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This is the building I used in the Bleat graphic – specifically, the storefront adjacent to the one I photoshopped. I only drove by and snapped some pictures; a Bleat patron actually LIVED there. I have his permission to reprint his recollections:
Regarding the building at Franklin and Fourth : when I lived there, Uncle Edgar's and Uncle Hugo's bookstores were both still in business, as was a barber shop and other oddities. There was a delicatessen directly across the street (later, a wholesale bakery), and the Electric Fetus, of course. It was rather cool, actually. Rent was cheap, but security, well, you could open the front door with a comb or credit card. Walking up the stairs at night, one looked around corners with apprehension. True story : first day I moved in, I left for a couple of hours, and came back to find a gaping hole chopped through my apartment door. Apparently there had been a fire alarm, and the firemen decided not to wait for the super and used their axes to gain entry to all unoccupied rooms. I spent my first night like that, then they put a piece of plywood over the hole. Did I mention it was cheap? Anything you didn't want the roaches to get, had to be in the refrigerator. Nothing better, too, than waking up in the morning with last night's female conquest and hurriedly flicking roaches out of the bed before she could see them. Good times.
Amidst the squalor, though, was faded design glory and high quality materials. I mentioned the bathrooms, furnished with stuff people pay big money for these days. It was a great building neglected, and now probably too far gone even if the neighborhood comes back. As to returning, I was there only yesterday, stopping at the Fetus (a record store across the street) for some Mehldau, Mingus and Mobley.
Mingus I know; Mehldau looks cool. Mobley, I can only assume is “Moms,” the famous blue comedienne.
(Kidding. Hank or Josh? Or both?)
At a restaurant now, waiting for my old editor. We usually come here once a year to take stock, plot what to do next. Last year we skipped the meeting, since the redesign made all plans moot. Now she’s not my editor. But the tradition lives on. It’s a Vietnamese restaurant on “Eat Street,” the name for a patch of Nicollet with every possible ethnic restaurant; probably a Mozambique-Peruvian fusion joint around here somewhere. Like many good honest “authentic” places, it’s a dive, and I mean that as a compliment. The tables are old faux granite, the plastic water glasses are from a restaurant supply firm that went out of business in 78, parts of the suspended ceiling are held in place with masking tape. My favorite dish here is some sort of grilled Spam. At least I hope that’s what it is. The coffee is served in the Authentic Style – a small glass topped with a small strainer that holds the grounds. The result is very potent, but it also leaves you with a mouthful of grounds.
Had another zombie dream this morning. They’re rare, but they do make an impression. In this one zombies had blue eyes; that’s how you could tell the infection had set in. I was in a small curio store, shopping and hiding (something that makes perfect sense in a dream) and I noted to the owner that things were getting bad out there. (I’d already fled from several hordes, run over a dozen zombies with my car, gotten the car stuck in a culvert while hordes of moaning shambolic fiends staggered towards us – we had to get out and push, and made it away in the nick of time.) He turned, grinning; his eyes were blue. Aw, crap. I left the store; he followed in that indisctinct confused way zombies have.
“Good luck with that monsterism thing,” I said as I drove off. And I woke up. Good luck with that monsterism thing. Who writes this stuff?
Ah – here’s my lunch guest. Later.
LATER. Busy day and busy night, so I’ve not much to add here. I did slip in a quick nap, and dreamed I had to come up with a replacement for “Fake but Accurate.” I’m not kidding. I came up with “Dead But Still on the Lecture Circuit.” I woke convinced this was BRILLIANT STUFF, then reality, cold cruel reality, set in. As it ever must. Made dinner, walked the dog, did the Hewitt show, got to work on some side projects, then remembered: oh, right, the Podcast. Well. Hmm. And what do I have to say, exactly? Nothing. The result was, I think I can say with complete assurance, wanders all over the place. (I use the new mike, but don’t have the mixing board yet. Background details on the curious “found” music I use can be found here; scroll down to July 28 #209 to get the full credits. But do so after you’ve heard the podcast.) Somehow it turned into half an hour, and it’s 31 MB – sorry; don’t know how that happened. But as usual, it’s mostly music. Screedblog up around noonish; more fun next week. Thanks for the patronage & fine letters – see you Monday.
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on Monday
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on Tuesday
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Mon-Sat
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